


Holly Jolly

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Baby Fic, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Holiday, Josh and Donna's baby, Josh and Donna's family, Love, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 13:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: Josh, Donna, and Becca's first holiday season





	Holly Jolly

I hear a loud _vroooooom_ sound and look up from straightening the couch cushions, grinning from ear to ear as Josh comes into the room, our baby stretched out on his hands as he swoops her gently through the air. Becca laughs and kicks, wiggling enough that I’d worry about her safety if I didn’t know that Josh would gladly lay down his life for her.

“Look—up in the sky!” he exclaims, swooping her toward me before going in a different direction.

“Is it a bird?” I ask, happy to play along. There’s so much joy on Josh’s face right now that I’d have to be completely heartless to do anything else.

“No!”

“Is it a plane?”

“No! It’s Super Becca!” He swoops her to a stop in front of my face and she gives me her big, gummy smile, drool dripping off her bottom lip. “She’s super clean, super dry, and super cute.”

All I can do is laugh at the two of them. I gently cup Becca’s face and give her cheeks a couple of big kisses. “Merry Christmas, sweetie pie. And Happy sixth day of Chanukah!” Her tiny hand reaches out and grabs my hair, managing to give it a couple of extraordinarily painful tugs before I pull it loose. I lean into Josh, giving him a slightly less family-friendly kiss. “Thank you for cleaning her up.”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for—handling the dirtiest of diapers.”

“Well, I guess she just felt bad because she didn’t have a chance to get to the store or order anything for you.”

Josh wrinkles his nose, readjusting the baby so I can inspect her. “So?”

I think I actually swoon; she’s dressed in a green and red onesie designed to look like an elf outfit. My baby looks like one of Santa’s helpers. “She’s adorable.”

He wrinkles his forehead and turns Becca around, holding her out in front of him. She kicks her feet, making happy gurgling noises as Josh inspects her. “Just ‘adorable’? I think we can do better than that, can’t we, Mommy? She’s the cutest baby to ever exist. She’s fashionable and stylish, and the most perfect thing in a onesie.” He pulls her in, giving her big kisses as she laughs merrily. I swear I’m going to melt. We’ve been parents for almost a year and I have yet to get over Josh as a father. It is, without a doubt, the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and one hell of a turn on. He’s just so good at it and, despite all his fears and worries leading up to her birth, he’s a complete natural. He and Becca adore each other.

I sigh playfully and take her out of his arms, closing my eyes when she cuddles into me. I adore my daughter, too, and it’s infinitely relieving when she shows me the feeling is mutual. “You’re perfect, Rebecca,” I whisper to her, stroking her soft blonde hair. “I love you.” I look up to find Josh smiling at the two of us, his expression wistful, so I roll my eyes to break the mood. “Knock it off.”

He clears his throat, giving me a quick kiss. “I’m going to make some more coffee. Why don’t you two hang out on the couch?”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I answer, settling us into the cushions. Almost more than anything else, I’m excited about having real, caffeinated coffee. It’s been close to two years since I’ve been able to drink it with any regularity. Between the whole pregnancy thing and the fact that it’s only been in the last couple of months that Becca will accept a bottle as happily as she’ll take me, it hasn’t been something that I’ve been “allowed” to have. I mean, I suppose I could have been drinking it, but the baby has enough energy as it is. She doesn’t need the added fuel. At one point, I thought I could get away with pumping what she needed and being able to drinking coffee in between, then pumping again to get rid of the caffeinated supply, but that was way early on and I feel like I knew so little then. Those would be the moments that she would cry so pitifully and refuse her bottle, letting nothing soothe her until I was able to nurse. That meant formula was out of the question, too; if she wasn’t going to take a bottle of breast milk, she sure as hell didn’t want the artificial stuff. We know because we tried. The first few months had a lot of rough moments, but not being able to be far from my baby because she didn’t want to eat any other way was definitely at the top of the list. It’s certainly not that I didn’t want to be around her, too, but I was a brand new mother. I didn’t know how to handle trying to work and take care of her, especially when it seemed obvious that day care wasn’t going to be a viable option for a while.

We were lucky, though; my job—and mostly my boss—allowed me the freedom to not only work from home a bit, but to also bring the baby with me to work. Helen didn’t mind getting to spend time with Becca, nor did anyone else who I managed to rope into watching her for me if I had to be in a meeting. Of course, she spent some time with Josh, too, but his job is often demanding in a different way than mine. She’s managed to get a lot of time in the Oval Office, though, probably more than I have in my more than ten years in close proximity to the place.

All of that made it very easy to meet the demands of my beautiful, perfect, but very needy and challenging baby, but it didn’t make it easier for me to ingest caffeine. It’s a very cruel trick on the part of the universe at large for new mothers. I mean, I was already beyond exhausted from nine months of pregnancy and lack of sleep and aches and pains and growing a small human, and then to finally give birth to her, to be up at all hours of the night, often for hours at a time, trying to figure out how to care for someone in that way, and, at least in my case, _not_ be able to drink coffee…well, it lead to more than one meltdown on my part. I knew I was overreacting most of the time but the sheer exhaustion wouldn’t let me be reasonable. Josh tried to do the no coffee thing in solidarity, and as must as I appreciated it, I couldn’t do that to the guy. He did start drinking coffee exclusively at work, though, so I wouldn’t have to sit and watch him drink it, which was one of the sweetest things he could do. Today, however, I nursed her first thing. I made sure she was good and milk drunk before I pumped for a while to add to her already healthy stash of breast milk so that no matter how hungry she might get, she’ll be satisfied and I’ll get to drink as much coffee as I can stand. I’m considering it my Christmas present to myself.

“Honey, do you want to call them and tell them to come over?” I call out to Josh.

“You sure?” he answers back, sticking his head out of the kitchen. “You think we’ve had enough time with just the three of us this morning?”

I smile at my daughter as she stares at the Christmas tree in wonder, her bright blue eyes wide, reflecting all the tiny twinkle lights. I don’t care how old I get to be, I’ll never have enough time with my daughter. I’m already dreading the day she goes off to college, mostly because she’s going to be really embarrassed by the fact that her mom is moving in with her. Still, our parents came all this way to spend the holidays with us and the baby and even though we saw them all last night, it seems mean to make them wait too long, especially considering my behavior toward them at Thanksgiving.

I might have gone a little off the deep end when they suggested coming to visit me and Josh for Christmas and Chanukah. Granted, at that point Becca was going through a rough patch of teething and sleeping even less, the three of us had just gotten over a nasty cold that lingered for almost two weeks, and Becca spent most of the flight to Wisconsin crying, which set both me and Josh on edge. Still, that doesn’t excuse me nearly tearing the heads off our parents when they brought up coming to DC for the holidays. My only defense is that they brought it up before we’d even had a chance to unpack or put Becca down for a nap; she was still whining, we were all tired, and all I wanted was a chance to relax and say hello to my family. Unfortunately, I went a little crazy and told them something horrific like to stay out of our lives and that we’d let them know when it was okay to visit, that we just wanted time with our child without having to entertain the world…I don’t entirely remember. I think I blocked it out. Josh had to calm me down, remind me to be human, and told me that he’d support me in whatever I wanted to do with our families. I hate that he’s been the voice of reason but the constant exhaustion and the general fear I have of being a parent sometimes makes me crazy. I love him for putting up with me. Once I realized how I’d behaved, though, I didn’t know how I’d face them again. I actually contemplated sneaking out the window until Josh made me realize how impractical that would be with Becca in tow. After we got the baby down for a nap, he forced me to go talk to them because we both knew it’d get harder the longer I waited. I tried to apologize for my behavior but I wound up breaking down in my mom’s arms, sobbing just like Becca had earlier in the day. She held me and let me talk for a while and reassured me that I was a good mother, despite how horrible I felt that particular day, or at any moment when my daughter was unhappy and I couldn’t fix it. Josh’s mom sat with us, too, also a wonderfully reassuring presence, though the two of them made me realize just how far I had to go with figuring out the whole “good mother” thing. They shared their own horror stories with me and told me that it was okay—no matter what I was feeling, it was okay, and that as long as I loved my daughter, I was a good mom.

Most of the time, I _do_ believe I’m a good mother because I love Becca beyond measure and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. That’s why the moments when I can’t console her are the hardest and most gut wrenching. I don’t want her to feel pain, I don’t want her to be sad or scared; I want to do it for her, but when we’re in a situation where she’s sick or teething or just confused by the world and I can’t make that better, I’m lost. It’s agonizing knowing your kid is upset and not be able to fix it. I thought I was alone in that, too, mostly because Josh is such a good father and is so amazing at taking care of Becca, but I was so wrapped up in what I felt like were my failures as a parent that I didn’t see that he had his own struggles. I think we’d both gotten to a point where we didn’t want to worry the other because the other seemed to have it so together, and we forgot this whole thing is new to both of us. We also had to realize that we weren’t just parents; we’re still Josh and Donna, the people who fell in love and denied it for a million years before getting married. That part is important, too.

My mom put me down for a nap after that—actually tucked me in and everything—and a few hours of solid sleep did wonders. It didn’t stop me from feeling horrible for the way I’d behaved toward our parents but they seemed willing to forgive me. I’d have called BS on that at one point in my life, but I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t forgive Becca for, so I think I get it. After that, we managed to agree on a time for them to come and visit, though since they’d booked a couple of rooms not long after our daughter was born, there wasn’t much to discuss. I honestly don’t want to know the sort of things my parents plot with Josh’s mother; somehow, knowing they’d planned almost a year ahead of time to visit us in late December didn’t seem that shocking. I hate that they have to put out that kind of money for a hotel, but there’s really nowhere for three extra bodies in our apartment. The upside is that it’s given Josh and me a chance to be alone with our baby, but to also have her grandparents near enough that they can spend all kinds of time with her. Once I got over myself and my temper tantrum, I realized that’s what it as all about. True, she only has one first Christmas, but that’s all the more reason to share it with the people who love her. I don’t know how long she’ll have her grandparents around—I don’t anticipate anything happening to them, but I didn’t anticipate Josh getting shot or me being bombed, either. If they want to be here with us and spend quality time with our little demon spawn, them I’m going to let them.

“Hon?”

I stroke my hand over Becca’s head again, Josh’s voice pulling me from my thoughts. “Yeah, give them a call. They’ve been patient enough.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right. They’ve probably been waiting downstairs since before sunrise.”

“Then we really should appreciate their restraint.” He snorts again but I hear him pick up the phone. I press a kiss to Becca’s downy little cheek, and she ignores me completely. The lights on the tree have her completely mesmerized. I shouldn’t be surprised; she’s been fascinated by them from the moment we turned them on. The first thing she did was try to yank them off and shove them in her mouth, so I know they have her stamp of approval.

I shift her around on my lap so she’s facing the tree, and she claps her hands as I give her an unobstructed view. She’s not at all interested in having a conversation with me right now so I don’t even bother. She stretches her little hand out, and I take a guess at where it’s pointed. “Those are presents, Becca-boo. By the looks of things, they’re all for you. I think you were on Santa’s Nice list this year.”

“Buh!” She strains against my arms a little, bouncing up and down a little as she smacks her hands against mine. “Bah bah muh!”

“Interesting suggestion,” I tell her, bouncing my legs a little in the hopes of distracting her. “But I don’t think I’ll let you down on the floor just yet.” She makes another noise, one I swear sounds disappointed, and rests against my chest to stare at the tree again. I’d like to believe my baby is a super genius and understood everything I said to her—and maybe she does understand a lot of it—but it’s more likely she has the attention span of a guppy and got distracted by the lights again.

Josh sits down on the couch, putting a mug full of coffee within easy reach of me, but far enough from Becca’s curious hands to prevent her from spilling it all over herself. “They said they’ll be here in about fifteen minutes. Considering their hotel is about half an hour away, I’d say there were already meandering toward us.”

“I’m just impressed that they’re not already at the door.” In fairness, though, it’s barely after seven in the morning. Even with the excitement of being around Becca for the holidays, they still keep normal human hours. Josh and I are already used to getting up obscenely early, and her majesty tends to keep her own hours so we’ve been awake for some time by now.

“Want me to take her so you can drink your coffee?”

I look down at the baby, who somehow tilts her head up at me at the same time. She smiles disarmingly, the few teeth she has sparkling as she grins. I could possibly sit here and hold her forever, forgoing my desire for coffee. She blows a spit bubble at me then and I flinch as it lands on my cheek. My nose wrinkles, making Becca laugh, and hand her off to her father. I wipe my face with a sigh. “All yours.”

He grins as he settles her onto his lap and I grab my coffee, pausing for a few moments to inhale the aroma. For the most part, I’ve tried to avoid even doing this much to coffee because it felt cruel to tease myself.

“You okay over there?”

“Shut up—I’m having a moment.” He snickers but says nothing as I finally take a sip. I moan in satisfaction as the taste hits my mouth, and it’s easy for me to imagine the caffeine coursing through my veins as it works its magic.

“Good God; I don’t think you even make those noises during sex.”

I take another sip, smiling happily. “It’s been a lot longer since I had coffee than since I had sex,” I answer. “Sex was just a few nights ago. It’s been months since I even attempted to drink coffee.”

“So, you’re saying the coffee is more satisfying than me?”

I lift my eyebrow as I glance at him, not surprised to see he’s pouting right now. “So fragile,” I tell him, enjoying another sip.

“I’m not fragile.”

“Okay, honey.”

“I’m not.”

“Definitely not. You’re the most macho. You’re very secure. You’re a stud, you’re a stallion, blah blah blah.”

He makes a face, and Becca tries to grab his nose. “Just drink your coffee.”

“I will, thank you.” We fall quiet for a few minutes, minus Becca babbling to us, explaining life in her own language, her tiny hands actually gesticulating as if she’s having a lively conversation. Josh nods along, looking absolutely smitten as his daughter carries on, and I’m struck all over again at how good of a father he is. It may have taken a bit of convincing to make him realize he wasn’t going to break her after she was born, but since that moment, he hasn’t wanted to let her go. He parades her around the White House as often as possible, even keeping her with him during less restricted meetings as often as possible. He says she’s good at softening even the staunchest of republicans, and she’s disarming enough that people don’t realize when he’s going in for the kill. I feel like I should be more alarmed than I am at the fact that she’s being used as a political pawn, but I’ve gotten to the point in this whole parenthood thing where if she’s happy and not crying, it’s good enough for me.

I smile again at my daughter in her little elf onesie before I tilt my head in confusion. “Babe, where are her matching pajamas?” I ask, gesturing between the two of us. “I mean, she really does look adorable, but I thought the whole point was so that the three of us would be in the same thing.”

He makes a disgusted noise and I elbow him half-heartedly. Truthfully, I’m with him on the matching pajamas thing, but my parents came up with the idea last year and sent matching sets to all of their kids and grandkids. I’m sure it was an idea they stole from someone else or a catalog or something equally as lame. Each family unit got their own design, including pajamas for any dogs they have. Last year Josh and I had plaid flannel pants which, I’ll admit, we both still wear, but very unfortunate, cheesy shirts. His said “Papa Bear” and mine said “Mama Bear.” Mine also included a smaller “Baby Bear” on my belly, in case anyone who saw me could possibly wonder about why I was so large at that point. Not that anyone saw me in that shirt, other than the pictures we took and sent off to my parents to make them happy. This year, we have very festive moose all over our pants—they’re decked out in scarves or Santa hats or Christmas lights on their antlers. Each of our shirts also has a moose some variety on it.

I mean, I love my parents but I think they’ve gone off the deep end. The only reason we’re wearing these now is because I know my parents are going to see them soon. That doesn’t mean part of me isn’t kind of hoping that Becca pukes on me and I have to change.

“Well, I figured since we’ve already had to completely change her once this morning, it was safer to wait until her grandparents got here. Even if she explodes again, at least they’ll get to see us in these God awful things for a few minutes before it all goes to hell. Besides, she’s got half a dozen holiday outfits to wear and none of them are going to fit or be applicable next year. We might as well try to get through all of them.” He grins at Becca, wiggling her a little to make her laugh, then he lifts her so he can kiss her belly. I’m almost overcome suddenly with a desire to jump my husband right then and there. He’s a complete and total turn on with a baby in his arms. I wish I could explain it but it’s got to be something primal, something deep-seated to help propagate the species.

He glances over at me, his lips tugging up into a smirk. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what?”

“Like _that_.”

“I’m not looking at you in any special way.”

“You’re looking at me like you want to devour me.”

“You’re mistaken, sir.”

“Lookin’ at me like _that_ is how we get another _this_ ,” he tells me, nodding his head toward the baby, “and we don’t have time this morning for that kind of attempt.”

I roll my eyes and take another sip of coffee, holding the mug in front of my face to try to hide my grin. My husband certainly is a cocky bastard. Good thing I find that sort of thing charming on him.

There’s a knock on the door then, and Josh and I both get up from the couch to answer it. There’s absolutely no one it could be other than our parents because the detail would have alerted us to any other visitors before they got this far. Not that anyone else would be crazy enough to be out and about at this time of the morning other than our parents. I squeeze Josh’s arm for a second as we both take a deep breath, knowing this is going to be a whirlwind of activity,  and we pull open the door.

Considering they’re only three people, our parents certainly fill up our living room. I get why Alice is this excited—Becca’s her first and so far only grandchild—but my own parents are just as giddy. I’m guessing it’s because they’d given up hope on me, assuming I’d be a childless spinster for all eternity before Josh finally took pity on me and married me. That’s the only reason I can come up with considering how many grandchildren they already have, all of whom they’re neglecting to be in DC for the holidays.

Maybe I’m being too cynical. I don’t have grandchildren—and Becca better not plan on giving me any for another thirty years—so I don’t understand the way they’re feeling right now. It could be completely different than what it’s like to be a parent. Josh and I are definitely excited to be parents and to have our incredible baby who is more than I could ever ask for out of a person, but it seems there’s something that triggers in your head when you have a grandchild, and specifically something about said grandchild’s first holiday. Maybe my parents behaved this way at each grandchild’s first Christmas. I’ll have to ask my brothers.

Becca grins and claps her hands as she sees her family, scrunching up her shoulders and wiggling in Josh’s arms. This part I like. I like that even though we don’t live anywhere near our parents, Becca has seen enough of them in the first year of her life that she knows immediately who they are. True, they’ve been here for four days now, spending all of their spare moments with Becca, but Alice and my parents have managed to fly in every couple of months, usually independent of each other, just so they can spend time with the baby. I would have thought I’d hate having them around so much, but it’s actually pretty nice, and if it makes my daughter smile like that, then it’s worth it.

“Come to Grandma, darling,” Alice coos, and Josh rolls his eyes as he hands her over. Alice insisted on being called “Grandma” instead of “Bubbe,” claiming that everyone she knows is called that. It seems to mildly annoy her son but it doesn’t matter to me one way or another. My parents were designated “Nana and Poppy” years ago, though I don’t think my mom would have minded if Alice wanted that moniker, too. At any rate, it’ll come down to what Becca calls them and I’m sure they’ll all live with the end result. My parents barely manage to give me a hug before following Alice and the baby into the living room; Josh wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. Even though we’ve been cast aside for our offspring, it’s actually really cute to see our parents doting on her.

The cute is gone a moment later; Josh and I groan simultaneously as we watch my parents place a few more presents under the tree. “Mom! She doesn’t need more stuff!”

“It’s her first Christmas,” my dad explains, as if this is brand new information to me. “She should get a little spoiled.”

“A _little_ spoiled?” Josh mumbles incredulously, looking at the pile of gifts under the tree. It’s significantly larger than what was there last year, and I thought last year was bad. The pile would have been even larger if we hadn’t donated a lot of it to charity. Even though Josh and I still receive odd amounts of backlash and judgment and scrutiny for our relationship, Becca is widely adored. Not that I blame anyone for that, but it’s a little weird. It’s not as if people run after us with cameras to snag pictures of her, but we’ve had to learn how to keep her sort of covered and protected when we’re out in public, unless it’s an event for work. We received, via the White House, of course, tons of cards and gifts when she was born. It started to happen again at the beginning of November and we actually had to request that anyone interested in giving Becca presents should donate them or money to charity, giving people a list of options to help kids and families at this time of year. There were still people who wanted to give her presents, maybe assuming that we neglect her and wouldn’t give her anything or that she’d get screwed over because her birthday is so close to Christmas, and sent them to the White House anyway. We wound up donating all of those toys and clothes to those who needed it more—no matter how well-meaning some of them were, Becca really didn’t need dozens of extra gifts.

“Trust me, Dad, she’s spoiled. She wants for nothing. She practically has the President of the United States on speed dial. And it’s not like she cares about the presents; she just likes the shiny paper and ribbons. You could have gotten her a box of wrapping paper and she would have been thrilled.”

Honestly, spoiling our daughter is something that Josh and I worry about, and I know some of it comes from the guilt of having high pressure jobs that can keep us at work until all hours. She’s our first kid and it’s really easy to just buy her things. Clothes, toys, anything that happens to jump out at us and we think will make her smile. Of course, there’s the fact that most of the people she knows do the same sort of thing no matter how much we protest, and it’s just a lost cause with her grandparents. I don’t ever want to deny her anything, but I really don’t want her to become an entitled brat who thinks all she has to do is bat her big blue eyes and the world will fall at her feet, no matter how true that is.

I bite my tongue, though, as I watch Josh’s mom point at the tree and talk quietly to Becca. Considering that just a few years ago she’d never so much as helped with decorating a Christmas tree, my Jewish mother-in-law seems very comfortable with her knowledge of the holiday these days. Truthfully, I think Alice likes Christmas more than Chanukah. Well, maybe that’s not fair. Maybe she’s more like a kid at Christmas right now because it’s all still new to her. She’s very much gotten into volunteering at shelters and food kitchens and helping people in any way she can. Not to say she hasn’t been a good person as long as I’ve known her, but she definitely has caught the Christmas spirit. It’s sweet. It helps that she’s found out that a lot of her neighbors in Florida actually celebrated a lot of elements of Christmas despite being Jewish, at least before their kids grew up and moved on. She gets to bombard them with questions instead of calling and emailing me constantly with them.

Josh squeezes my waist a little, pulling me closer, and I refocus on the tableau in front of me. Alice has passed the baby off to my parents and they’re all sitting on the couch, talking to her. I can hear them talking to her, their voices overlapping, and they keep trying to draw her attention to the stack of presents waiting for her, but Becca only has eyes for her grandparents. It’s actually really adorable. She smiles as they talk, looking in that moment more like a little person more than the almost-one-year-old that she is.

“We made that,” Josh whispers in my ear, and all I can do is nod as my eyes grow misty. We’ve both found, over the last eleven months, that we have to remind each other of that fact frequently. It shouldn’t be as astonishing as it is by this point, but not a day goes by that I’m not completely amazed that I brought someone so perfect into the world. Becca has been absolutely captivated by all the shiny boxes and ribbons for the past couple of days as we’ve finally started to put out gifts, and I truly thought that she’d be able to focus on nothing else until she got her sticky little fingers on them, but here she is, staring at her grandparents as if she’s never seen anything as amazing as the three of them. It gives me hope about the kind of person she’s going to be.

I lean my head against his shoulder and sigh. As much as I thought this would be an intrusion on our time with our daughter, having our parents here to celebrate with us is perfect. “Why don’t you—”

“I’m gonna get the coffee and stuff,” he says before I can finish the sentence, kissing my cheek before heading into the kitchen. I join the rest of our family, sitting on the coffee table so I can see the four of them. Becca twists in her grandfather’s arms and smiles, stretching her arm out for me. I grab her little fingers but make no move to pull her onto my lap. I’d truly never let her go if I had the option but I won’t deny her grandparents the opportunity to smother her with attention while they can.

“So, what has she opened so far?” my mom asks, barely sparing a glance in my direction.

“Nothing yet. We were waiting for you. Trying to teach her patience.” I lean in and blow a raspberry on Becca’s cheek and she shrieks with laughter, tucking herself against my father’s chest. “Unfortunately, she takes after her father so the whole patience thing is going to be a lifelong struggle.”

“Thanks, honey,” Josh says as he carefully makes his way out of the kitchen, balancing a tray full of mugs, a carafe, and baked goods we fully intended to make ourselves but wound up picking up at a bakery yesterday afternoon.

“Oh!” my mother exclaims suddenly. “Where are Rebecca’s matching jammies? Don’t they fit?”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes at the insistence that we all wear matching pajamas on Christmas Day—and remind myself that it won’t be too long before Becca’s rolling her eyes at me every time I open my mouth—but before I can move from my perch, Josh has put down the tray and is hustling down the hall. “On it,” he calls out, his voice a little muffled as he tries to find them from wherever they wound up this morning. My heart flutters a little. I love my husband. I love him so much it makes me ache. He’s a good person, he’s an amazing dad, and he has one of the most amazing political minds to ever exist. People fear him. People succumb to his will. He’s amazing at what he does. Still, no one ever believes just how doting he is. He’s never been shy of the fact that he loves me, at least not since we came out of our own version of the closet, and he loves taking care of Becca, doing just as much dirty work as I do regardless of anyone ragging on him about how he’s doing “women stuff.” He’s very obviously and very publically committed. Despite all that, no one ever suspects just how much he’s willing to do for me and our daughter, even when it’s something simple like this morning—going to get all the breakfast stuff while I spend time with our family, then immediately running down the hall to find Becca’s Christmas pajamas, all after doing the bulk of the childcare this morning, including whatever exploded out of our little miracle first thing. They’re not things that jive with the Josh Lyman most people know. I suppose I can see that to a degree, considering how helpless he often seemed to be while I worked for him and constantly had to remind him to do basic things like call his mother. But he openly adores us, and does everything he can to make my life as easy as possible. Of course, I try to do the same for him, but it’s these little moments that mean so much.

“Our darling daughter is on her second set of pajamas already,” I inform them, passing out cups of coffee. “We thought it wise to wait until you got here to put them on her.”

“She’s a very cute elf,” Alice says, reaching over to tickle the baby.

“The cutest,” my father agrees, and I try to hide my grin behind my hair. He’s not always the most demonstrative, so when he says something like that, even something relatively simple, it makes me smile like an idiot. I’ve found, though, that it’s best not to draw attention to it when it happens.

“Cute, but evil,” I say, composing myself. “It’s a balance.”

Josh reappears with the pajamas in hand; Becca leans toward him without being prompted and he scoops her up, giving her another round of belly kisses before kneeling on the floor.

“Good morning, Joshua,” his mother says pointedly, though I’d say her case is weak at best considering she didn’t acknowledge either of us as anything more than decorative baby holders when she showed up at our door a few minutes ago.

“Hi Mom,” he answers, giving her his best grin for a few seconds. “Hi everyone. Happy Holidays.”

I slide off the coffee table and grab one of Becca’s changing mats, less because I’m worried about her getting something gross from the rug and more because the mats are easier to clean than anything else, should she decide on an encore. I snag a diaper and some wipes, too, just in case.

I’m also aware that we’re being photographed as Josh pulls off the elf onesie to replace it with the matching outfit, discovering she does in fact need a new diaper. Becca wiggles and whines through the outrage of being changed, and I’m already looking forward to the day I can embarrass her with the pictures of her little naked self as she squirms on the floor. Maybe, though, she’ll wind up being one of the unflappable sort and will be able to let things like this just roll off her back.

She manages to flip over as Josh gets the final snap on her pants done and pops up on her hands and knees. She tries to crawl over to her grandparents, hoping for them to rescue her I assume, but Josh scoops her up again, forcing her to pose with us. She wiggles again, her eyes trained on the pile of gifts once more. “Too bad, shorty,” Josh tells her, trying to get her to focus. “If Mommy and Daddy have to do it, you have to do it, too.”

“Stand up,” my mom instructs. “In front of the tree.”

My eyes to actually roll this time as I struggle off the floor, grabbing Becca from Josh so he can stand, too. “Smile and nod,” he breathes through his grin, the two of us holding our daughter between us. Our daughter, who is suddenly hyper-focused on the camera in front of her, smiles like a perfect little angel. I maneuver myself so that most of the front of my shirt is blocked by my child, not because I’m worried about it looking embarrassing at some point in the future, but mostly so I’ll have as little reminder of it as possible. Josh glances at me out of the corner of his eye and does the same. The pose has the added advantage of putting us all close together and is very happy family-like.

“Are we done?” I ask through my teeth, hoping I still look like I’m smiling and not like I’m snarling.

“Fine,” Mom sighs, though she doesn’t stop taking pictures. “It’s only Rebecca’s first Christmas. It’s not a big deal or anything.”

My mother has been spending too much time with Alice Lyman. Her guilt game has doubled in the last couple of years. “Mom, take as many pictures of her as you want. I won’t stop you. I mean, look at her. Who _wouldn’t_ want dozens of pictures of her? I just wanted to move along from the posed portion of our morning.”

“All right, all right.” She moves her camera away from her face and attempts to look contrite. “Better?”

Josh’s hand presses down on my lower back, and I know he’s trying to lend support in his own way. He likes having our family around for this, but I think it’s getting to the point of too much togetherness for him, too. He snags the baby then, holding her in the air for a few moments before swooping her to the ground, sitting on the floor behind her. “What do you say we open a few presents?”

I put my hand on the top of his head, running my fingers through his obscenely thick hair for a few moments. “I think that sounds great.” I sit down in front of the two of them, watching as Josh grabs the first box he sees. Becca’s eyes grow wide as it slides in front of her, and her little hands smack the top of it in excitement. Josh whispers in her ear as he shows her how to pull at the ribbons and rip the paper, and my heart stops for a couple of seconds.

I saw this. A few years ago, during our second Christmas together, I had this mental picture of Josh and our baby, sitting in front of the tree, the baby staring at the lights in wonder as Josh tried to contain his joy as he helped our kid celebrate. I knew then that it wasn’t an impossible future—in fact, I knew it was a very likely future—but there’s something about seeing it come to fruition that chokes me up. My eyes fill and I cover my mouth a little, hoping to hide my quivering lips.

It doesn’t get past Josh, though. He sees my face and his forehead crinkles. He tilts his head at me just a little and I give him a tiny nod, smiling through my tears. I lean over Becca’s head and kiss him, not caring that our parents are watching.

“You okay?” he whispers as I press my forehead to his.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Thank you for my baby.”

He grins at that, pulling away to look down at Becca. “I think I should be thanking you.”

I shrug and resituate myself next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder as Becca clumsily tries to pull at the wrapping paper.  The reality of this moment is even more perfect than I ever could have imagined it.

“We do have a small gift for the two of you,” Alice says suddenly, and I look up to find her watching us with a sentimental look in her eye.

“Only if you want it,” my mom adds. “We just want to put it on the table.”

“What’s that?” Josh asks, helping the baby get into the box that contains a fancy new toy—one that’s probably supposed to help her cognitive skills with all its lights and shapes and such.

“We know that you two really haven’t had a lot of time to yourselves since the baby was born,” Mom says. “Or even really before she was born with how busy your jobs keep you.”

“And we all understand how hard it is to leave your baby for more than a few hours at a time, especially if you’ve been at work all day and just want to spend time with them,” Alice says, grinning at Becca as she tries to stick her new toy in her mouth.

I glance over at my dad, who’s wearing the same bemused look on his face that he’s had since Mom and Alice met. He does give me an encouraging smile, even though he says nothing. “What are you getting at?” I ask.

“We’re offering our babysitting services,” Alice exclaims, practically bouncing on the couch. “We’ll stay here for a night and you two can take one of the hotel rooms. Or, it can just be for a day, a few hours, whatever you need.”

“It’ll give you two some time to yourselves and we’ll get to be with our granddaughter,” my mom finishes, looking equally as excited. I glance over at Josh, who has his eyebrow lifted at me.

It’s not that we haven’t had offers from people to watch Becca overnight, especially in the last few months as she’s become a bit more independent and comparatively easier to manage, but neither one of us has been able to bring ourselves to take them up on that offer. We spend so much time at work, and we’re lucky in that we can actually keep her nearby during those hours so we get to spend more time with her than most parents who work full time, but it’s hard to want to leave her even for a few hours at night to do something as simple as getting dinner. It feels selfish. But, this…this seems like a decent idea. It’s been almost a year. We might have earned a day away, especially because Becca’s grandparents really do want to spend time with her.

“When are we talking about?” Josh asks. “Because you’re leaving in a few days.”

“Tomorrow,” mom answers.

“Or the day after,” Alice says. “Whichever is better for you.”

I look over at Josh again, a million thoughts racing through my mind; I can tell he’s thinking the same thing. We’d have a chance to do something as simple as go to the grocery store without lugging an extra thirty pounds of baby paraphernalia. We could eat dinner without having to try to feed Becca at the same time—the food I eat could even be hot! That thought almost makes me want to cry. I’ve had so few hot meals in the last eleven months that the idea seems novel. Plus, if we take them up on the overnight part of the offer, we could actually…

“Sleep,” Josh murmurs, reading my mind.

“Sleep,” I breathe.

“If you two want to take some time to talk about it—”

“We’ll take it,” Josh answers, cutting off his mother.

“Really?” she answers, blinking in surprise. “That was easy. Do you want to do the whole day or—”

“We’re gonna shoot for overnight,” he says, looking over at me for confirmation. I nod my head vigorously.

“I mean, we can’t promise anything,” I say, “since we haven’t been away from her like that, but having the night to ourselves sounds amazing.”

“Uninterrupted sleep, right?” my dad asks, smiling knowingly. For what he sometimes lacks in conversational skills, he more than makes up for in reading between the lines.

“It’s been so long, Dad. Even for months before Becca was born, I couldn’t sleep through the night.” Becca looks up at the sound of her name, grinning at me with drool running down her chin. I reach out and dab it with the sleeve of my ugly shirt, already planning to use that as an excuse to change as soon as possible. “You don’t like it when Mommy sleeps, do you, Becca-boo?” She blows tiny bubbles as she laughs, scrunching her body up, and I lean in to kiss her forehead.

“Or you could work on giving me another grandchild.”

“Mom!” Josh yelps, his face turning beet red. I’m sure I don’t fare much better.

“I want more grandchildren, Joshua,” Alice states simply, looking unashamed. “I’m the only one I know with just one and I need more. Even Lucy and Jim here have a whole gaggle of them.”

“Don’t almost all of them call you ‘Grandma’?” he asks.

“I need baby pictures,” she answers, neatly circumventing the question.

“No pressure on my uterus,” I mumble.

“You should start trying—”

“Alice,” my dad cuts in, looking pained. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about. Could we, I don’t know, maybe _not_ talk about her doing things like that?”

“And Joshua is my only son, but no one ever got anywhere with him by being subtle,” Alice states matter-of-factly. “I’m sure Donna knows from experience that you have to beat him over the head to get his attention. It’s better not to beat around the bush. Becca needs a sibling or two.”

Even my mom looks a little flummoxed at Alice’s bluntness, and I’m positive the same thought occurred to her when coming up with this particular scheme. What didn’t occur to her was to was essentially tell her daughter to go have sex. And for that I’m grateful.

“Okay,” Josh says, turning his attention to our daughter. “So, we’ll definitely work on taking the whole day, and we’ll play the rest of it by ear.”

“Sounds good,” my dad answers, sounding grateful for the slight change of topic. When no one else says anything, I grab another present for Becca, who laughs gleefully at the newest shiny object before tearing at the paper as best she can.

“And you’ll work on giving me another grandchild,” Alice says suddenly.

“ _Mom!_ ” Josh exclaims again. I bury my face in my hands.

It’s going to be a long day.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a couple of days after Christmas and it’s taken me this long to finish it. I only briefly considered waiting until next December to post it but…eh. It’s another one that’s not great, but it _is_ something to read, so it’s better than nothing, right? Still working on typing up other things, so thanks for your patience. Also, it’s called Holly Jolly because, again, I suck at titles.


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